


Let it end

by theproblematique



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But also some feelings, But mostly porn, Dubious Consent, Feelings, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theproblematique/pseuds/theproblematique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Watch out for Sammy'. Right. Everybody in this bar is watching out for Sammy, and it ain’t just ‘cause he looks good enough to eat. </p><p>No. He smells like it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it end

**Author's Note:**

> ... I wrote this in two days.
> 
> Beta by alienass who is a goddess and also a saint. This is without a doubt the porniest thing I ever wrote and then subsequently posted. I am... sorry? I am also a lil' bit more hellbound after writing this, I think.
> 
> Details (and obviously BIG-TIMEY SPOILERS) on the reasons behind my using the problematic dub-con tag: This is ABO heat!fic. Keeping that in mind, my intent as author is to portray the fact that, despite All The Porn, these two are in love and want it to happen every step of the way. That being said, this is still ABO heat!fic and I can yell “wincest is endgame” until I’m blue in the face but we are definitely in the shady area of consent here.
> 
> Sam is 18 and Dean is 22.

Everyone is staring at Sammy tonight, and it ain’t just ‘cause he looks so pretty it hurts. Dean knew this was a shit idea and he fought Dad on it with everything he had, but of course in the end the case had a body count and anyway John had at least told Dean to keep watch.  _ Watch out for Sammy.  _ Everybody in this bar is watching out for Sammy, and it ain’t just ‘cause he looks good enough to eat. 

No. He smells like it, too.

Omega. The rarest, most fetishized, most coveted subspecies. Some people go their whole lives without seeing (without smelling) one. Their heat cycles set them apart from betas and the stereotypes about them all revolve around hours of uninterrupted mind-blowing sex... so yeah, ‘coveted’ is probably the kindest word one could use to describe the way Sam is being ogled right now.

Stupid, reckless, brave little idiot brother who fucking volunteered to be let loose in a den of depraved psychopaths.

It’s happened before, people noticing Sam. Of course it has. Usually in the summer more than any other time of the year because when it gets hot Sam’s scent-suppressants can’t always mask him completely, and sometimes people come up to Sam in public. Some types take the time to manufacture a creative guise but more than one asshole straight up asks Sam for a fuck, just like that, like they think there’s even a remote chance Sam won’t sock them in the jaw. 

Those instances, however, are nothing to what’s happening right now. Because Dean understands that maybe all people aren’t fundamentally evil or whatever, and hell, they can go weeks without anyone bringing up Sam’s subspec even with that kindly, old-lady-type curiosity... but tonight ain’t that. 

The bar has a sordid history and a reputation for being host to the city’s lowest kind of criminal. There’s more than underground information and shady drug deals being exchanged here; things worse than petty theft or unsafe sex work on the table. It’s not the kind of place John would have ever let his kids near if it weren’t for the fact that John is on the other side of the country and a guy named Rufus called him about two fourteen-year-old betas going missing on the full moon.

It’s the kind of place that makes Dean really fucking nervous, and his baby brother is sitting smack dab in the middle of it.

Sam didn’t take his scent-suppressant today on purpose, and the scum of the Earth that congregates in this dive is currently undergoing a collective herd-mentality mind-meld. Dean’s fucking watching it happen. He sees their hungry stares. He fucking sees them, and he knows what they are all thinking.

“You wanna maybe... tone it down a notch, Dean?” Sam mutters into his diet Coke. His face is shiny with perspiration and the reflected light coming from the neon bar sign. His eyes look very green. No--blue. No... gray?

“Tone what down,” Dean grunts, like he doesn’t know.

Sam nudges his elbow with the back of his wrist. “S’not gonna work unless I actually, y’know... let him take me out back.”

Oh yeah, it gets better; Sam has a specific target: the second witness they interviewed, who recently climbed a couple of positions up their suspect list. It was Sam’s idea to act as bait.

After it’s all over Dean’s not going to have nightmares anymore, he’s just gonna relive this fucking case.

“Sam, I really don’t think that Dad meant you  _ actually _ had to take him out back when he asked us to interrogate him. S’obvious you have his interest--” Sam snorts down at the bar because yeah, he has literally everyone’s interest and he’s not blind or deaf. “--so let’s just go now, let him follow us both, and we take it from there, yeah?”

“No? The whole point was for you to take him by surprise. What good’s that if I don’t lure him out first?”

“It’s good for my conscience to know I’m not lettin’ my baby brother get pawed at against some brick wall.”

Sam rolls his eyes and tips to the side, right into Dean. It’s... it’s unexpected. The move puts Sam’s cheek on his shoulder and his hair tickles under Dean’s jaw. Before he’s consciously thought about it Dean steadies him with an arm around Sam’s waist and only after it’s done does he remember that lately Sam hates being touched by his brother, but--well, if he wants Dean to stop he’ll just have to say so.

“You drunk off of a fucking Coke, Sammy?” He mutters, trying to sound teasing and probably outing himself as breathless.

Sam stiffens against him and then he’s pushing away (already?) with a tiny frown, like he’s mad at himself for leaning in in the first place.

“‘Course not,” he says. “Just makin’ Trevor over there a bit jealous.”

It’s terrifying, how quickly the fury rips through Dean. He’s going to kill Trevor. He’s going to kill everybody in this bar; he’s an alpha, most of them are too but that’s irrelevant, he’s so angry he’s on fire with it--

“Hey, hey,” Sam says, alarmed. “Cut that out! You’re doing it again!”

He was growling.

He gets himself under control; deep steadying breaths and then when those don’t work a hearty swig of scotch.

“Christ, Dean.”

Yeah, well. He’s not proud of it, but he can’t help it either. Sam is  _ his _ (or... well, he’s  _ Sam’s _ ).

“Sorry.”

Sam shoots him another look from under his bangs, but it’s almost sympathetic. He smiles a little; so easily forgiving, is Dean’s baby brother. “S’okay.”

Unfortunately, that lovely moment is timed with a particularly strong wave of sweet fertile that wafts right up Dean’s nose. It’s probably the lack of scent-suppressants but it seems particularly thick tonight. Dean has the crazy thought that he could inhale it and swallow. Fuck.

“Is he looking over?”

“He... hasn’t really stopped looking over, man.” It kills him to admit it, but the place is less dingy and dark than Dean expected so he can’t exactly miss the six feet of well-built suspect. Trevor Gage is seated at a far table but his unnerving eyes have been stuck to Sam since they walked in. “Dammit, Sammy, he looks hungry.”

Sam seems to flush a little at those words. A drop of perspiration is sliding down his temple.

“Okay. Good.” He nods to himself, gaze fixed on the translucent ice in his glass again. “Good.”

They argue about it a lot, not just tonight but since Sam turned eighteen. Sam wants to handle things by himself. He keeps saying he’s gotten used to the attention and he’s gotten better at dealing with it on his own, and Dean believes him, but all Dean’s gotten better at is faking his being okay with it. Because he’s not actually okay with any of it, he damn near dies a little inside every time he has to swallow a comment, suppress a touch, back down from a challenge.

“Maybe you should take a bathroom break soon,” Sam adds after a few moments.

Dean’s stomach lurches. “Not yet though, huh?” he can’t help but beg. “Let’s wait him out a little longer.

His little brother nods. “Okay.”

The panic recedes to a slightly calmer flutter and Dean takes a shaky breath. A breath that sticks to the back of his throat, because it’s really... the smell is impossible to ignore; Sam smells  _ ripe _ , like a peach that’s--wait.

“Sam, are you...?” He cuts himself off. Opens his mouth to ask again, feeling his pulse pick up and his cheeks flush just from thinking it, from acknowledging the possibility. He shouldn’t react this way every fucking time but he can’t help it; the mix of embarrassment and hot sludgy desire swirls around his gut and wants him to do something about it. It’s been two years since Sam blossomed into this particular aspect of his anatomy.

“Am I what.”

Sam’s jaw twitches and that’s his tell, he knows what Dean is talking about which means Dean is right, Sam is... either tonight or tomorrow but soon, way too soon, and he didn’t fucking  _ tell Dean _ .

“You in heat, Sam?”

It’s not something you’re supposed to--shit, there’s taboo and then there’s heat cycles and Sam’s his little brother and it’s fucking weird to acknowledge that four times a year Sam has to get his own motel room so that he can ride out the throes by fucking himself senseless on a toy. But they are in the middle of a case and, more specifically, in the middle of a hostile fucking environment where vulnerability is the last thing they can afford.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you say something?”

“You wouldn’t have let me come here.”

“Of  _ course _ I wouldn’t have let you come here, Sam! Why the fuck did you think- _ - _ ”

“It’s okay!” Sam hisses. “Calm down, I’m not... I’ve got a few hours, I think, it’s not... it’ll be fine.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? No!”

“Sam. You’re not safe here. This ain’t...”

“Look, if Trevor wants to paw at me a little I’m actually... okay with it.”

“Wh... what?”

“I’ve thought this through, Dean. It’s my choice.”

Dean gapes at him for a long moment. Then he turns back to the bar and tries to get a lungful of air that isn’t Sammy-saturated. He ends up downing his drink in full. 

“The fuck?” He spits out finally.

Sam sighs. “I... I’m saying he’s not bad looking, and I... you know.”

No. Dean doesn’t know. He’s so shocked and so fucking angry again that he barely knows his own name, let alone what the hell Sam is implying.

“Is this why you agreed to tonight?”

“No,” Sam snaps hotly. “‘Course not. But it’s a... um, an added bonus.”

Dean can’t believe his ears. Or his eyes. (He can believe his nose, though, because Sam is making his mouth water).

“Trevor is a fucking suspect, Sam. And you’re sayin’ you wanna stay here and get off with him?”

“I... no, I mean--it doesn’t have to be him.” At the look on Dean’s face he huffs. “Fine, not him! But... but maybe you’re right, maybe we delay the interrogation until tomorrow. And maybe I... hang around here a bit anyway. After you leave.”

Okay, Dean’s gotta give it to the kid,  _ that _ was pretty funny.

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“But I want you to. I want this.”

“You wanna let them have at it?” 

It comes out all wrong, insulting as hell (‘it’, like Sam’s not the most precious thing in Dean’s life, like his honey-slick hole is some dirty or demeaning part of him), and Sam takes it as such.

“Fuck you,” he snaps. “I don’t mean the whole fucking bar.”

“Hi.”

It’s the bartender. The younger one of the two, actually, and Dean will give a million dollars to whoever can come up with an alternate explanation as to why he comes over to Sam and not the woman in her fifties who is currently hefting a keg single-handed. 

He’s tall and hot and an alpha, if Dean had to bet--Sam’s nostrils flare a little and he sits up, which means it’s a bet Dean would’ve won. Omegas can smell things better than alphas can. 

“Hey.” Sam smiles at him, probably a reactionary way of getting back at Dean for his stupidity. Possibly just because he likes the guy.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to offer you a refill.”

Sam’s smile broadens a little. Does the bartender think that Sam’s off his scent-supps to telegraph his omega status so he can get fucked in a back alley? Because this version of Sam’s smile certainly seems to suggest it.

“Thanks, man.”

“S’my pleasure.” Yeah, Dean bets it is. The heavily tattooed arm that pours Sam another Coke flexes in ways Dean’s pretty sure aren’t necessary to tip a jug into a damn glass, but who’s counting.

(Dean is. Dean is fucking counting.)

“All right, bye,” Dean says pointedly when the Michael Scofield wannabe seems about to linger. Mr. Tattoos shoots him an annoyed look but doesn’t fight him on it. Not yet, anyway, not when he’s clearly thinking that Sam hasn’t made a decision in regards to who he’s leaving with tonight.

“Sammy. Listen,” Dean mutters, chin resting on his own shoulder to lower his head in gentle submission. “I get that you...like, it’s your body an’ like, that’s your choice. I’m not saying don’t sleep with anyone ever--”

“No, you’re just saying to do it at a time and place that is convenient to you, right? So you say it’s my choice, but you want me to factor in your opinions and your judgement into my decision.”

“Sam, this place is dangerous. All I’m saying is--”

“It has to be during the heat,” Sam interrupts. 

Dean’s almost afraid to ask, but it’d kill him not to. His heart is beating in his throat. “Wh... what does…?”

“I...” Sam leans a little closer to him, not completely into his side like before but close enough that Dean gets another heavy, inviting lungful. His eyes look almost glassy, depending on how he angles his face in relation to the lights. Did they look like this a few minutes ago? “Dean, listen, it’s... it’s getting worse, okay?” Sam whispers. “Every new cycle, it’s killing me. You have no idea how bad it’s gotten.” 

His gaze is distant, like he’s remembering the same thing Dean is, his first heat and the only time Dean’s seen him during its throes; he will never forget opening that motel door to Sam writhing on the bed with his legs splayed, desperately humping Dean’s pillow while he sobbed for release. As far as points of reference go, if it’s gotten worse since then Dean can barely imagine... God, the poor kid. 

“Okay. Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Dean says. He wants to help, he wants to... Sam deserves this. He’s so special and good and he deserves to be worshipped, to be taken care of in every way he needs. “We’re gonna get out of here and we’re gonna go some place else. I’ll drive all night if I have to, okay? And then we are gonna find you someone safe, somewhere nice, al’right?”

But Sam’s shaking his head. 

“This is what I want.” He fixes Dean with an intent stare, like it’s a test, like he’s chosen this to teach Dean a lesson about letting him make  _ terrible fucking choices _ . “And let’s face it, I kind of have my pick of the litter here, so...”

“This litter is filled with potential killers, Sam. Pick a better one.”

“This is the one we’ve got.”

“There’s too many alphas.”

“I kind of need an alpha for this, Dean.” Oh, what a great fucking time for Sam to get condescending. “I’ll be fine.”

Before Dean can reply to  _ that _ overconfident statement, the bartender is back.

“Hey, man. I’ve gotten, like, fifteen requests to send drinks over to you and I was wondering whether you wanna hear the list and maybe take your pick?”

“He’s eighteen, genius,” Dean informs him curtly. “Illegal.” Off limits. Forbidden. Not allowed.  _ Get the fuck away from him _ .

“Dean, shut up,” Sam says with a grin, then ads: “My brother, he’s afraid I’mma get hammered if I take a sip of beer.”

The bartender leaps for that opening. “So you’re not looking to get hammered?”

“I...” Sam assesses him for a moment, then shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Cool.” The guy sounds like he wanted to compress ‘ _ Jesus fucking Christ please _ ’ into that one syllable. “Let me know when you’ve made your decision.”

Sam nods and makes a show of checking the guy out when he walks away. He doesn’t know that he’s slowly killing his brother, he has no idea.

“Him?” Dean manages finally. Sure, Mr. Tattoos is an employee so he’s probably not the most dangerous person in here, but that’s not saying a lot. And the fact that he looks to be in his mid-twenties isn’t comforting enough.

“Maybe,” Sam says again. He sways in a little closer to Dean, whose gut clenches hard with want. But it’s okay. He’s used to it, it’s okay. “He’s built.”

“You could make him and Trevor fight to the death for you.” He tries to sound like he’s joking but halfway through the sentence he realizes it’s the truth. The way the air is charged in here, Sam could start a goddamn riot if he wanted.

At least Sam seems to be amused by the idea. “Maybe,” he quips a third time.

He looks so beautiful, so worthy of idolatry. “Sammy...”

”Look,” Sam interrupts, not unkindly. “I just need... I’ve been reading about it and all the literature seems to indicate that doing it--” He means  _ knotting-- _ ”is really beneficial, it can slow your cycle down to twice, even once a year, Dean. I’d even be helping you and Dad, y’know? Less of a--no unexpected hiccups in the middle of a case. It’s a win-win and I’ve decided.”

“Dude, you think it’s lack of  _ data _ that’s got me questioning that decision?”

Sam shuffles sideways a little more and they are sitting so close together he’s practically in Dean’s lap. Dean prays Sam doesn’t notice the proximity this time (and if he does, that he’s not as quick to revert it). “Dean. At the end of the day, it’s still my decision.”

Dean’s palms itch to cradle Sam’s face so he can tip it up and look deep into his eyes when he says: “But what if something happens to you.” 

Instead, he looks out at the crowd. 

“I’ll be fine. I will. It’s just... I really need this. Tonight. Now.”

Dean nods (a reflex, hardly an agreement) and swallows down all the things he could say to escalate this conversation, horrible things like ‘I’ll lock you in our motel room if I have to’ and ‘don’t do this to yourself, Sammy’ and worst of all: ‘don’t do this to  _ me _ ’. He’s coming to terms with his fate, though; he’s going to watch Sam get knotted for the first time and make sure it goes okay and then he’s going to try not to kill a man and take Sam home instead.

“You won’t tell Dad, right?”

He chuckles, dares to use the excuse to put his arm loosely around Sam’s waist again. “No, Sammy. I won’t tell Dad you got your cherry popped.”

Sam flushes violently, and maybe Dean imagines the sudden swell in sugary-slick scent but maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t smell like Sam has hours. Thank God other alphas can’t seem to tell when Sam’s heats set in or this scene would be playing out very differently. Dean figured that one out a while ago, and concluded that he’s special ‘cause he’s lived with Sam long enough to identify the particular changes in his brother’s scent.

Not that it smells subtle to him at all, right now.

“Hey. You’re absolutely sure about this?” Dean prods again, nudges Sam’s shoulder with his own.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. He’s breathing a little harder than before. Could be the heat or just nerves, but then Sam slides right off his stool and takes the half step needed to press himself flush against Dean. He fits perfectly between Dean’s legs, chest resting against Dean’s front.

Dean has such a potent rush of arousal he’s dizzy with it, and then Sam whispers in his ear: “This means a lot, okay? Thank you.” And pulls away from the haphazard hug.

Dean is a sad, pathetic fool.

Sam hops back up on his stool and turns to lean forward on the bar. The bartender rushes over in point two seconds, the crew-cut son of a bitch.

“Hey. You decide on something?”

“Yeah. Think I might as well get the full experience, you know?”

The guy lights up like goddamn Christmas. Dean is dying.

“Sounds great. You wanna come check out our storage basement? Get the full range of choices?”

“...Yeah.”

The guy nods again and shoots Dean a smug look like he knows what this exchange is doing to Dean’s guts. “It’s the stairs next to the women’s bathroom. You can come down whenever, okay? I’mma wait for you there.”

And he’s gone in a rush, like he’s afraid Sam’s going to change his mind if he gives him the time. The woman manning the other end of the bar shoots her coworker a jealous look but lets him out. More than at any other moment since they came in here, Dean can feel the eyes boring into Sam’s back.

Sam, who is getting up off the stool and running a hand through his sweaty hair, breathing harder, eyes gleaming.

It’s happening. It’s--Dean can’t breathe. Suddenly he’s gripping Sam’s arm and he has no idea how his hand got there. “But he. How do you know you really want him,” he chokes out.

Sam stares up at him, a rare occurrence lately but his knees seem to have buckled a bit while Dean has never felt taller.

“I don’t--I mean, I do. Maybe not like, him specifically, but I’ve wanted this for so long. The heat doesn’t take away my ability to make choices, Dean. And anyway, want isn’t always... right now I  _ need _ him. More than anything.”

Something in Dean’s chest cracks and splinters at that one.

“Sammy, I...”

“See you back at the motel. Don’t wait up, okay?” It’s like he doesn’t know Dean at all. “Okay?”

“I... okay.” 

“I’ll be fine.”

“...Okay.”

He’s still holding onto Sam and Sam... Sam hasn’t actually made a move to pull away. 

Nor has he looked away from Dean’s eyes.

“You’re...” Dean lets out a careful breath ‘cause he’s afraid Sam’s going to snap out of it at any second and realize he hasn’t left yet. “You’re sure there’s no other way, right?”

Sam shifts his weight from one foot to the other and doesn’t answer. Dean tries to stifle a flare of hope and fails.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather leave with me?” He mutters.

Finally, Sam shakes his head.

“That a yes or a no?”

Sam’s eyes flit between Dean’s own. Dean holds his gaze for as long as he can take but ends up ducking his head submissively, this time more overtly so. He’s getting worse at this shit.

“It’s a ‘no’, Dean.” 

Sam glances over his shoulder quickly to their audience (because for all their apparent chatter and the game of cards going on by Trevor’s table, Dean knows they hold everyone’s peripheral attention) and bites his lower lip.

“It’s a ‘no, I’m not sure’.”

Relief so strong it  _ hurts _ courses through him. Dean starts blabbering, muttering under his breath even as he gently arranges Sam so he’s sandwiched between his body and the bar, to shield him from those prying eyes as much as possible. “Sammy. I’ll buy you a toy, the biggest--the nicest one, I’ll... I’ll get some ice and some chocolate and we can soundproof the room and you can use the shower jets too, I swear, you’ll be okay, and next time we’ll find you someone, okay? We’ll plan in advance and we’ll find you someone good, Sam, someone who’ll do you good--”

Sam makes a small sound in the back of his throat and finally nods. “We should... we should go,” he breathes. The hectic flush on his cheeks is spreading down his neck, too, and yeah, Dean has to get him out of here right fucking now.

“Okay, okay, s’okay, here, we’re leaving, okay? We’re going, c’mon...”

They leave without paying, without even mentioning Mr. Tattoos waiting in the basement, Dean just walks Sam to the Impala and tears away from the place without looking back. He felt furious, heavy stares follow their exit from the bar but doesn’t care what mood he was telegraphing. Nobody chased them, and that’s what’s important.

“You okay?” He asks. “Sammy, you holding on there, buddy?”

Sam’s in the passenger seat but now Dean’s thinking maybe he should have stretched out in the back, because a quick glance tells him Sam’s not doing so good.

“I’m... it just... started really fast,” he whispers. “ _ Uhn _ .”

Dean’s dick twitches at that sound, and then he sees out of the corner of his eye how Sam twists around to lie on his side and look at him.

“What is it, Sammy? Want me to pull over? We’re gonna be there soon, I promise, okay? I’mma drop you off in your room and then I’ll go buy you some lube and some... some stuff to make you feel good, yeah?”

“... Dean?” Sam says, all quiet-like.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Would... would you do it?”

He honest-to-God nearly crashes the car.

*

They make it to their motel room and Sam is clearly worse for wear; his face is pinched with discomfort and Dean tried not to look but there was an inescapable wet patch in the seat of Sam’s jeans.

“It was a  _ joke _ , Dean.”

“Yeah, I get it, Sammy. Fucking hilarious.”

He’s not angry at  _ Sam _ , of course. But God. To even consider being able to-- _ God _ .

“How are you doing?”

Sam sits at the foot of his bed and slouches forward. “Not... great. Usually I can tell when it’s gonna start.”

“Okay. Okay, well, you got your... uh, your emergency stuff, right? And I meant what I said, I’mma leave and go get you some more, okay? Something better--”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t--don’t go. Nothing’s better. It’s either an alpha or what I got. There’s no...” his voice is high with frustration. “Fuck.”

Dean winces. “Sammy, I’m sorry...”

“Maybe...” Sam shoots him a look from under his bangs. “Maybe if you stay in the room? Or, like, the bathroom?”

Dean freezes. “What.”

“If I can smell you... Remember Maine? That was one of the worst and it was when we couldn’t get the adjacent room, remember?” He looks feverish and desperate and Dean already agreed in his head but before he can verbalize a promise to chain himself to the fucking radiator if Sam wants him to, Sam rants on. “An’ Dad came over to check on me during and it was the only time I felt a bit more...” Christ, oh hell. “Uh, I think it just has to be an alpha, any alpha, doesn’t matter--just an alpha, so at least if I can smell you--them nearby I think, maybe, that’ll be better?”

“Okay... yeah. Sure, Sammy.” He knows he’s probably beet red and sweating, but he pretends it’s the heat in the room and shrugs off his jacket. “Want me... um, in the bathroom, or out here?”

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath with his jaw hanging open. He’s pressing his thighs together in a restless little dance.

“Here’s probably best. For the... y’know. The smell.”

“Right, yeah, course. That makes sense.” Does it? Does any of this make sense? Did the last two minutes just happen?

“Dean, I...” he’s panting. “I need to--I really need...”

Dean rushes over to the corner of the room and grabs Sam’s duffle, quickly deposits it at his feet. “Here. What...?” But Sam falls forward onto the carpeted floor and tears the bag open himself, frantic.

“Shit, shit...” He huffs, and Dean hovers over him and doesn’t dare help, or touch, or breathe, basically. Finally, Sam seems to find it; the unmistakable shape of the knothead he bought for himself almost two years ago. Dean’s never actually seen it, but he can’t look away now.

Sam tears at the button on his jeans and toes off his shoes quickly, right there on his knees on the floor still, chest heaving. “M’gonna... I need...”

Dean stumbles back a few paces and it’s only because he happens to look up at Sam’s face as he does it that he catches the  _ moue _ of disappointment that twists Sam’s mouth. It’s gone in a second, but maybe it meant...

“Sammy?” He asks. Sam doesn’t seem to hear him; he’s a man on a mission and as soon as his shoes are off his pants go next, with minimal wriggling but a lot of impatient fumbling and tugging. “Sammy, want me to...?”

Sam’s eyes snap up to him and he stops trying to yank his shirt off. The outline of his dick in his grey boxers is very, very obvious from this angle. Dean shouldn’t--Dean looks away.

“Want you. To what,” Sam pants. 

When Dean takes a second too long to answer Sam goes back to shucking his shirt. Then he tears the translucent silicone knothead out of its packaging with trembling hands and seems to consider standing up for a moment... before slumping down on his back right there, thighs shaking and boxers still on.

“Sammy, c’mon, at least get on the bed...” Dean says worriedly, and takes a step forward--which makes Sam let out a tiny little whine.

Fuck. “Is it... d’you want me further away?”

“N-no,” Sam says immediately. “No, please, no.”

Damn. If the alpha scent affects him that much maybe they should have done this from the get go. Dean advances until he’s standing over Sam and tries not to catalogue Sam’s reactions to his proximity, tries not to notice the way Sam’s toes curl when he crouches down, or the fact that Sam’s panting for breath, mouth open and pink and--

“I...” he hitches, back arched, legs restless. “Dean, please...”

“I’ll--I’ll stay close,” Dean promises. “What do you want, what can I...? Lube? D’you need...?”

“No,” Sam groans. He tugs at the hem of his boxers and after a moment of glittery-eyed hesitation he deliberately looks away from Dean and starts to tug them down.

“Sammy, wait, c’mon, let’s get you on the bed. Here, c’mon.” 

Sam lets out a small sound with frustration but takes Dean’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to a sitting position, then to a weak-kneed standing one. He’s still shaking like a leaf.

“Here, see? That’s better, c’mon...” Sam shudders and falls face-forward onto the bed. He immediately pushes his hips into the mattress and Dean can’t fucking breathe at the sight of him, the dripping back of his underwear stained dark where fluid must be leaking out in--in slick gobs, probably, probably squelching and sticky and wet; it smells like honey so it probably tastes like it too, Dean’s only ever been with one omega and she didn’t smell half as good or syrupy as Sam.

Sam groans something unintelligible into the mattress.

“What?” Dean croaks.

Sam turns his head and looks at him over his shoulder. “Said I don’t need lube, Dean. Never used it, I’m...” he makes a face. “You might wanna stand on this side? S’pretty... gross down there.” Dean didn’t think Sam could blush any harder, but his face is blotchy with embarrassment. How to tell him he’s the sexiest, most beautiful thing in all of creation?

“Don’t worry about me, Sammy. Just tell me what I can do. Do you want me to... to sit?”

“Yes,” Sam pants instantly, another jab of his hips into the mattress. “Please, yes.”

Dean sits on the very edge. He’s more or less level with Sam’s back, so his panoramic view of the sinuous line of Sam’s spine is enough distraction for a moment that he doesn’t quite register that Sam is finally getting rid of his boxers until he’s completely naked.

“Uh... sorry for... scarring you for life, I guess,” Sam mumbles. It might be meant as another joke, but he sounds too shy for it to really land.

Dean fakes a hoarse laugh anyway. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll both need therapy after this.”

“M’gonna... um, turn over, ‘kay?”

Over the sound of his pounding heart, Dean says: “You do what you gotta do, Sammy. I’m just here to help.”

It takes Sam two shaky attempts but Dean stays put. The toy looks large even in Sam’s large hand, but Sam seems to be quivering with anticipation. When he’s finally lying on his back (one sock still on) Dean forces his eyes on the bedspread. They haven’t been naked in a room together since Dean popped his knot, and he’s going to have to save the treasured glimpse of Sam’s gorgeous pink dick and pale inner thighs for another damn time. 

“God-d okay, I’m gonna--I gotta--” out of the corner of Dean’s eye, Sam fumbles, desperate, frantic and folds a leg up and twists his body in what looks to be a practiced motion. The toy goes in; Dean can tell exactly when and how thanks to the noises coming out of Sam’s mouth, an ‘u-uh’ like a surprised sigh and then, when he starts to fuck himself with rapid jerky movements, a series of escalating, high-pitched moans. There’s a squeaky, squelching accompanying soundtrack to it that’s just obscene.

Dean’s knot throbs, hard, and for an insane moment he fears it’s gonna start to fill right in his pants when that’s never happened before, not even in his early teens.

“Ah, ah, D-Dean,” Sam groans, and Dean quickly turns to him because if Sam is calling his name something must be wrong, or there must be something he can do, or Sam is... uh...

“Sammy...?”

“Oh G-God, oh  _ fuck-- _ ”

Sam’s back arches and then he’s coming, shooting all over his abs and chest and possibly up to his neck. Dean’s knot throbs again at the smell, the sight of him, all of it a love-letter to his senses.

Sam whimpers and kicks his feet through it, arm flung up to clutch at the sheets next to his head and he sounds like he’s sobbing but there’s something less than satisfied about his cries.

“Dammit.” There are tear tracks down his eyes. “God _ dammit _ .” His voice is tight with hurt, face pinched in frustration.

“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, knowing he’s repeating himself. “Is there anything...”

Sam looks up at him and wipes his tears with a swipe of his palm. The toy is still... in him, but he’s locked it and stopped moving.

“W-would you... come closer?” He whispers finally, chest heaving.

Dean’s not sure how much closer he can get without touching his brother. The beds aren’t exactly king-sized.

“Is it okay if I... uh, if we touch, Sammy?”

Sam nods frantically. “Yes. Yes, it’s... please.”

Of course, it makes sense that touching would help. It’s all a step towards fucking, which is what Sam is desperate for. Dean won’t be doing that, obviously, but if they can come close enough to trick Sam’s body into  _ thinking _ that’s what’s happening...

“Okay. Here goes, kiddo.” He wanted to say ‘baby’ again. He doesn’t.

Dean shucks his own shoes and the plaid shirt he was wearing so he’s just in his undershirt and jeans. He slides as close to Sam as he dares, and then gasps when Sam whimpers and rolls over onto him.

Right onto Dean’s side.

“F-fuck--” Sam sobs, right in his ear because he’s  _ right there _ , his face is tucked into Dean’s neck and his fingers have bunched up the front of Dean’s shirt and he’s thrown a leg over Dean’s hips and he’s grinding his rock-hard dick into Dean’s thigh. “M’sorry, c-can I... please, can I...”

He’s already doing it so it’s kind of a pointless question, but god fucking damn as if that matters. Dean’s knot throbs so hard he shivers, and his dick goes from dripping to leaking a thin stream inside his pants.

Sam grinds against him like he can’t help it at first, hips stuttering like he’s fighting every move, but when Dean finally recovers enough to pant out: “S’like I said, Sammy... you... what you gotta...” He lets out a sobbing moan and starts humping in earnest, jostling Dean and the mattress and probably the goddamn toy in his ass.

“Th-thank... thank... you... God-d, yeah, y-yeah...” Sam groans. His nails scratch Dean’s chest as he digs in for purchase, and his dick feels so hot and hard but Dean is wearing jeans and that kind of friction can’t be good, Sam’s gonna hurt himself.

“Sammy, wait, I...”

And then he thinks about it again. Because Sam’s gonna see... Sam’s going to see how crazily hard Dean is, too.

“S’okay, s’fine,” Sam pants, still riding Dean’s thigh. “The... the heat, I’m sorry, it can affect... it’s affected... you too...” As if to illustrate this, he hikes up his knee so the meat of his thigh is pressing into Dean’s ridiculously obvious tent. Dean barely swallows the punched-out grunt and shudder that elicits, but Sam’s moving enough that he’s pretty sure it goes unnoticed. “M’sorry, that’s... s-sorry, that’s m-my... fault...”

It’s really not, but Dean’s not going to tell him the truth; that the most Sam’s heat is doing is adding fuel to an already roaring fire.

“I... okay, but, look, wait...” He tries to pull away and gets a “ _ No _ ,” Right in his ear for his troubles. “Sammy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Don’t. Wanna. Stop,” Sam breathes hotly in his ear. He huffs out a word with each thrust, and because he hasn’t moved his thigh after putting it on top of Dean’s erection Dean’s getting some pretty glorious pressure every time Sam moves. His pelvis itch to buck up... but Sammy comes first.

“Look, wait, here...” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe it’s gotten this far, but he can’t stop to think about it either while Sam still sounds like he’s in pain; Dean hikes Sam’s leg up even higher so it’s lying over his lower abdomen, and then he unbuckles his belt.

Sam stops moving at the clinking sound.

Dean does too, for a second, and then he shifts his hips away from Sam entirely and single-handedly tugs his jeans down to his knees.

For a long moment, all he can hear is the rustling of fabric as he uses first one leg and then the other to kick the jeans off, but then Sam’s panting starts to pick up again, even more frantic than before. He sounds close to hyperventilating.

“S-Sammy...? This oka--”

Next thing he knows, Sam is scrambling to slide on top of him. As in fully on top of him, with a leg at either side of Dean’s and his dick flush against Dean’s knot, chest heaving right against Dean’s own.

This time there’s no stopping the way Dean’s hips lift up, hard enough that he lifts Sam up with them, and he lets out a groan that Sam can’t have missed because he’s still panting deliriously in Dean’s ear, but all he replies with is: “Yes, yes,  _ ah _ , yes--”

“Sam, Christ--”

Sam humps his belly shamelessly, dick drooling and still wet from when he came before, and the pace gets frenzied fast, slick heat and friction rucking up Dean’s thin tee. The meat of Sam’s ass bumps against Dean’s straining dick with every other furious thrust, and Sam’s lips brush against Dean’s earlobe when he moves and Dean is... Dean’s knot is... he’s actually starting to swell up, holy fucking shit--

“Yes, yes, yes,” Sam sobs, and even in his delirium Dean notices Sammy is using a hand to pinch his own nipple, scratching and tugging at it, and that won’t do,  _ Sammy comes first _ .

With a massive heave and the employ of every last bit of his lower-body strength, Dean lifts his hips up again and puts a hand under each of Sam’s thighs, tugging hard to slide his entire body upward.

Sam goes with a surprised yip, but that surprise turns to a hoarse scream when Dean gets his mouth around his nipple.

Sam comes the moment Dean bites down, dick shooting slick between their chests and ass probably trying to milk that stupid clunky toy instead of--

“F-fuck, God, yeah... fuck yeah, Dean, Christ--” he pants. He grips Dean’s head with both hands and shoves into it, circling his hips to ride out the aftershocks of his orgasm on Dean’s abs.

Dean closes his eyes and sucks harder, ears ringing with the joy of having found a way for Sam to use him better.

When Sam finally pulls away he’s still hard, but he takes a seat on Dean’s stomach and reaches behind himself to where Dean’s knot is slowly but surely swelling up.

“I... thought I smelled it...” He whispers. Dean feels the ghost of a touch over his boxers--fingertips lighter than feathers, and he wants to cry with frustration and a whole bunch of other reasons.

“Sammy, I--”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine... I know it’s chemical. I’m sorry,” Sam says again. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” Dean says immediately. He leans up on his elbows, making Sam slide back down a little without meaning to. “No, I don’t. No.”

“Okay. Then...” the feathers coalesce into a palm, a gentle stroking touch that’s almost shyly rubbing Dean’s knot. “Can you... I think it’d really help if you maybe... pretend to knot me?”

Another gush of fluid leaks from Dean’s dick and it twitches. The knot is happening, there’s no stopping it now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can... we can... okay. Here.” He reaches up and grabs Sam by the waist, motions with his head to the side. “Like this, this okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and for the first time since it started he sounds relieved.

Dean tips him sideways so he’s lying on his back again, only this time Dean is on top of him and he’s minutes away from being able to come and there’s a layer of cloth and a fucking plastic toy between his knot and the place Sam so desperately needs it to be (needs, doesn’t want. So... that’s why Dean isn’t ripping off his underwear and tugging the toy out and just--that’s why).

“Still okay?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

Sam’s dick is still hard, an angry pinkish red color that makes Dean desperately want to lick it, suckle at it, soothe it... but instead of any of that Dean spreads Sam’s legs and settles between them, noting how eagerly Sam lifts his ass, how flushed and tan and slick and gorgeous his skin looks, sweaty and smelling like fruit primed for eating.

“This still...?”

“Yes, Dean, y-- _ ah _ \--” The moan comes after Dean thrusts against the base of the toy with his hips, jostling it deeper and fucking Sam with it, he’s fucking Sam with it, he’s fucking Sam--

“That good? Huh? That feel good?”

“Yeah,” Sam sobs. “Yes, s’good, I... ah,  _ ah _ , I...” He wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and counters each shove with one of his own, eyes closed and lashes fanning over his stupidly gorgeous cheekbones. “Ah, Dean, God yeah, more--”

Dean gives him more. He shoves hard and makes sure to get the toy every time, feels it sink in in time with his hips. Sam’s hands don’t seem to be able to settle anywhere, first fisting in the sheets, then grabbing at his own hair, and then finally he starts pinching his nipples again. He whines, high, tossing his head to the side and massaging himself with both hands.

Something deep within Dean growls: “No.” He shoves into Sam harder, but not hard enough to dislodge the determined rubbing of those long fingers. “No,” he grunts again, and he arches forward, bats Sam’s hands away and latches on.

Sam sobs, once again grabbing Dean’s head and cradling it in his arms to push it closer, body rocking like a wave under Dean’s thrusts, and when Dean uses his tongue for torque around the nub he feels Sam’s hips stutter and his ankles dig deep into the small of his back. Sam comes again like that, crying and spasming under Dean.

“Sammy, you okay...?” Dean pants into Sam’s sweaty chest, and a distant part of him is screaming ‘ _ What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing right now, Dean? _ ’ But mostly he’s just worried because Sam doesn’t sound nearly as satisfied as Dean wants him to.

“I just... you’re gonna think...” Sam wipes at his teary eyes again and lets his legs slump at either side of Dean.

“Hey, hey,” Dean chides, gentle, careful. He brushes a finger under Sam’s chin and pretends (for Sam, for himself) that it doesn’t come away sticky. “I’m not gonna think anything bad, okay? But I’m gonna worry if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Sam throws an arm over his face and groans. “I just... I want it so bad, Dean...”

Dean’s alpha brain roars its approval. Dean himself just keeps breathing for a bit.

“Y-you want...?”

“Your knot. I fucking... I want it.” His jaw clenches. “It’s... I don’t think it’s ever been this bad. You... maybe if I could just... touch it...”

That does it. Dean’s knot suddenly swells up completely inside his boxers and he feels so heavy he’s actually lightheaded. He’s going to come if Sam so much as looks at him; he’s going to explode.

“Would... would you let me? Just--just touch it.”

Dean has to stifle a groan of his own. “Y-you can do whatever you want, Sammy,” he chokes out finally.

Sam removes the arm. “Yeah?” He says, already reaching for Dean’s boxers.

“Y-y _ eah _ .” It’s part relief, part pain, and purely coincidentally an actual answer to Sam’s question. When Sam’s deft hands manage to tug his underwear down and expose the full, slick length of him he hears himself panting like a racehorse, but takes pride in no other sounds (or words) coming out.

“Oh, God,” Sam whimpers, tight. “Fuck.”

He spreads his thighs wider, like he’s imagining it. Like his mind went straight to where Dean’s did, to getting that stupid toy out and impaling himself on Dean.

“Dean, I gotta... I... can I.” He’s shifting forward, eyes fixed on the swollen knot at the base of Dean’s dick.

“What do you want? I... whatever you--”

Sam pushes him back to the edge of the bed and clumsily shoves at him to turn around. Dean complies readily and sits as instructed, feet on the floor and pulse through the roof. After a moment, Sam clambers onto his lap with his back to Dean’s chest.

“Like... this?” He breathes over his shoulder, and what kind of a question is that?

“However you want, Sammy,” Dean whispers back. Sam ends up spreading his legs slut-wide over Dean’s thighs and after two of Dean’s tentative thrusts his head drops back onto Dean’s shoulder. 

He’s pliable as silk like this, and Dean’s going to come any second now. He wraps his arms around Sam’s waist and pulls him close, hating the plastic base of the knothead more than he’s hated anything in his life.

“Mh, yeah...” Sam mutters, thrusting his ass back onto Dean’s dick. His balls brush Dean’s knot when he does it, too soft, too good, too--”God, yeah, s’better...”

_ Not yet, Dean _ , Sammy comes first,  _ not yet _ .

Sam’s throat and clavicle are right there so Dean bites down, alpha instincts wanting him to draw blood but this isn’t about Dean at all, so he tongues Sam’s delicious skin and lavishes his neck with attention, makes Sam’s thighs quiver and his whole body shake and spasm. Every approving noise Sam makes is a badge of honor. He noses up to the back of Sam’s jaw, his earlobe, teeths and suckles at it while his dick coats Sam’s balls and taint with precome. He hasn’t had an excuse to bury his nose in Sam’s hair for so long...

“ _ Dean _ ,” Sam sighs, head lolling. His hips keep shoving back erratically, like he’s trying to get the toy impossibly deeper, or like he’s wishing the toy was something else.

Dean slides a hand down Sam’s belly to wrap around his dick, and Sam lets out an agonized whimper. 

When Dean’s other hand slides up to his abused nipple Sam starts to shake his head. “I... I can’t...”  Sam whines. “I can’t, you have to--Dean, you gotta--”

“What? What do you need, Sammy?”

“Fuck me,” Sam gasps.

Dean’s hips stutter in their rhythm. “What?”

“Please fuck me, let’s just... please, just do it, please...”

“Sammy, I already--” The shame and embarrassment are worse than maybe any he’s ever felt. He can’t believe he has to say ‘no’ to Sam for this, to disappoint Sam like this. “I, uh, already popped, r’member? So it won’t... won’t fit, okay?”

Sam takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head. “If I make you come, you can fit it then,” he pants. “You gotta. You... I can’t take it Dean, I can’t, you gotta put it in me, I want it so bad I’m gonna... please, please--”

He disentangles himself from Dean and stumbles upright, coltish in his desperation to bend over the bed and take out the knothead.

“ _ Ah _ .” He winces and tosses the shiny toy aside like it’s garbage. A gush of fluid seeps out between his legs and Dean is still frozen because he can’t believe he’s getting this, he can’t believe Sam wants--no,  _ needs _ this.

“Dean. Do you--will you do it?”

Dean nods, still feeling like he’s catching his breath. He pulls off his shirt--the final piece of clothing left on him--and tosses it aside. It’s going to take less than ten seconds to get him over the edge, all he has to do is look at Sam, really--

“I’m just... just gonna...” he wraps a hand around himself but Sam says: “Wait, wait, I can fit it in, wait--”

Dean shudders. “Don’t wanna hurt you, Sammy.”

“No, no please--” Sam trips over to him and lands in his lap again, this time with his front to Dean. “Please, here, look--” he plasters himself to Dean’s chest and reaches back to grip Dean’s dick. Dean’s knot pulses, blood-hot, a warning; he’s gonna--he’s gonna--

“Sammy, wait--” he gasps, but at the brush of Sam’s sloppy-wet taint against the tip of his dick Dean’s  _ gone _ . His head falls forward and he muffles a scream into Sam’s shoulder, spraying Sam’s ass with come, pumping his hips until his dick catches against Sam’s rim. He cries out again when Sam’s hole sweetly gives around his girth and can’t help the way his hips shove up, instinctual and pathetically desperate to get in further, push past the initial resistance and pump Sam full.

Sam comes the second Dean’s cock gets in him. He lets out a strangled shout and drops his full weight down, engulfing Dean in slick heat, his inner walls fluttering and contracting around the entire length of Dean but for his knot. Dean rakes his fingers down Sam’s broad back and hears himself grunting like it hurts--and it kind of does, feels so good it’s goddamn painful to experience.

He drops back onto the bed when he can’t take it anymore, overwhelmed and numb and still spasming, his arms flopping uselessly at his sides as he continues to churn his hips, unable to think beyond ‘yes’ and ‘good’ and ‘Sam’ and ‘fuck’...

And ‘mate’.

Distantly he feels Sam’s moans start to change from satisfied to frustrated again. He’s shoving down and trying to fit Dean in further, but it’s no use; the knot is still too full. It’d hurt. 

“Dean,” Sam mutters. “Dean, I need more and I can’t--Dean--”

Dean can’t feel bliss if Sam’s not satisfied. He tries to focus his gaze and succeeds after a couple of attempts, eyes taking in Sam’s body above him, riding him in choppy thrusts.

“Sammy...” He breathes, circling his hips and shuddering again at the clench of Sam around him. Sam’s fisting his own dick and still trying to bear down, but it doesn’t seem to be getting him anywhere. A drop of liquid that could be a tear lands on Dean’s cheek, and finally snaps him out of it. “God, okay, hang on...” 

He manages to sit up with some effort and then realizes what he’s going to do. 

“Okay, here, I got you, s’okay...”

He gently wraps his arms around Sam and helps lift him up, dislodging him with an obscene pop and lowering him to the bed. His dick is still leaking steadily and now he’s pumping in the cool air instead of into Sam where it belongs, but he doesn’t matter,  _ he doesn’t matter _ .

Sam digs his fingernails into the meat of his own thighs and stares up at him, trusting and desperate little brother.

“Gonna...” Dean mutters, and scoots down. His knot clenches hard and pumps another stream of come into the sheets at the sight of Sam’s winking, shiny wet hole. “Here...”

He leans forward but when Sam seems to realize what he’s about to do he squeezes his thighs together. “Dude, no,” He pants. “That’s... that’s not... that’s  _ gross _ .” 

Dean shakes his head. “S’not gross. Trust me, c’mon--”

“Oh God, you can’t--”

“Sure I can.”

Sam’s right knee falls open. “But it’s all... sticky.”

Dean grins up at him, knows it looks feral and feels it. “What do you think this has all been so far?”

Sam’s left leg slowly stretches out. He’s trembling, stomach muscles clenching with expectation. Dean plans on exceeding all of Sammy’s wildest dreams.

“S’okay, Sam.”

He leans in, noses under Sam’s thigh for him to lift his butt up a little. Sam tremulously complies.

“God, you’re gonna...” Sam husks, so quiet Dean barely picks it up, and he doesn’t hear the rest because he’s there, he’s finally right there.

He was right; Sam tastes like honey, too.

It feels better than his own orgasm, doing this for Sam. All Dean wants--all he’s ever wanted was for Sam to get what is worthy of him in every aspect of his life, with everything that implied. Dean is pretty damn far from perfect but he knows for a fact he will try the hardest, work the longest, sacrifice the most. He would kill for this kid.

Sam ends up smashing Dean’s face in so forcefully Dean actually worries he’ll injure his nose, but it’d be a small price to pay for Sam’s frenzied gratitude. He keeps gasping pained “ _ Yes, yes, yes _ ” and pulling at the short strands of Dean’s hair, locks his ankles around Dean’s neck at some point and damn near asphyxiates him when he comes.

Dean, for his part, just keeps his eyes closed and savors the moment (pun intended and well-fuckin’ earned) even as his tongue starts to go numb.

When it becomes clear to Sam that there is no physical way to get Dean’s tongue any deeper he untangles a leg from behind Dean’s back and pushes Dean away with the ball of his foot.

“I’m ready,” he pants. “You’ll do it now, right? You said... you--”

Dean’s knot has barely started to go down but Sam’s tone leaves no room for argument, and  so  Dean goes, of course he does; he climbs Sam’s body until they are face to face and it’s right then, as he looks into his brother’s eyes, that he feels afraid for the first time.

‘Cause what if Sam doesn’t--

“Dean?” Sam mumbles. He’s searching Dean’s face worriedly, as though Dean’s moment of reflection exists out of time and Sam’s no longer aching to be filled. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He smiles, trying to project ‘ _ duh, of course I’m okay _ ’ vibes. He’s not sure it works. “It’s gonna be all right, Sammy.”

Sam blinks up at him and then lifts himself up on his elbows. They breathe each other’s breaths for a moment, and then Sam’s grip on Dean’s bicep tightens. “Do you really want me?” he whispers.

Dean pulls back to look at him. “I... what?”

“Do you.” Sam looks to the side. “I can smell you, Dean. I know you’ve wanted my... uh, my body for a while. But...”

Ice floods Dean’s system. He can’t feel his heart beating in his chest anymore.

“But do you want... me.”

A single tear falls down Sam’s cheek when he blinks again. He brushes the back of his hand against it impatiently.

Dean never... Dean was never going to  _ tell _ him. “Sammy...” He searches for the words, but can’t find any satisfying combination of them to express what he needs to say. “I...”

How. How to say it.

Sam’s lower lip trembles and he suddenly seems to collapse inwards; shoulders hunching and head lowering like he took a punch to the solar plexus. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, I... y’know, maybe we shouldn’t--”

“I’m yours, Sam,” Dean blurts out.

He feels winded after throwing it out there like that, but Sam looks at him like he did after Dean’s saved his life on a hunt.

“You... what?”

Dean winces. “M’not gonna fucking say it again.”

Sam keeps staring at him like he’s trying to dissect him with his mind. Finally, he says: “And you’re sure it’s... not the... um, the omega thing?”

“No.” Turns out, Dean’s got it in him for one more chick-flick confession. “...It’s the ‘you’ thing, idiot.”

Sam’s eyes go wide with shock. To be honest, Dean’s pretty shocked himself; that was cheesy as  _ fuck-- _

Sam moves so fast that Dean misses what happens in between his brother shifting his grip and Dean landing on his back with Sam on top of him again.

“It’s not the alpha thing for me either, Dean,” he says, very seriously. “Never was. Never could have been ‘any’ alpha, okay? It was you. Always.”

Dean exhales with force. He never... he never even dared to hope--

Sam reaches back deliberately and sinks down onto him with a breathless sigh, jaw slack with pleasure. When the girth of Dean’s knot comes up to the slippery entrance Sam just shoots him a sly grin, as though he knows what’s gonna happen next, how well they are going to fit together, and he is... completely, earth-shatteringly right.

Sam’s eyes fly open when he comes for the last time, a gush of fluid landing hot on Dean’s stomach and not stopping after two or three ropes like it did before. He fists himself slowly, really milking it this time, squeezing and stroking like he’s taking the time to enjoy it. “Dean...” he sighs, such profound relief on his face that Dean aches just to see it.

He ends up falling forward onto Dean, still coming and shivering from it.

Dean rocks him gently and pushes Sam’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. They share a conspiratorial look like they just committed a crime and got away with something precious, and then Sam leans forward a little more.

His lips meet Dean’s like it was inevitable. It probably was.

Dean licks into Sam’s mouth the way he’d always thought someone should; gentle, careful, deep, slow. Sam hums and allows this for a few moments, but then he starts to kiss back, and turns out he kisses back  _ hard _ , pushing his whole being into it. His tongue thrusts in and he clenches his ass around Dean at the same time. A rough sound escapes the back of Dean’s throat, and he feels Sam smile against his mouth. 

“Tha’s’not fair, y’know,” Dean mutters wetly. And goes back for more.

Time passes while they stay fused together, kissing until their lips are swollen and Dean can’t identify the taste of Sam’s mouth as distinct from his anymore.

Time passes, and if the world had been about to end around them Dean would have let it end.

  
  
  


Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are treasured and saved directly to my happyplace. Thank you for reading :)
> 
> PS: The title and last sentence are 100% a reference to Dean's grief-stricken yell at the end of S2. For some reason I enjoyed the multiple interpretations of the phrase re: Sam's heat, their UST, Dean not caring about the world actually ending when Sam's involved whether it's because he's too happy or too sad.
> 
> PPS: The case Sam and Dean are on is a flimsy excuse for all this to happen, but for those interested: the two betas who disappear are actually two fourteen-year-old girls who are in love and run away together and live happily ever after. The Hot Bartender looks like Matthew Daddario and will fall in love with an equally tattooed female alpha who looks like Gina Rodriguez.


End file.
